Altar
by sister dark
Summary: EDITED...for being written at 3 am...Chapter 2 is up! a girl wandering down the highway in a state of post traumatic shock could lead Dean and Sam into a potential Hunt.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm just sayin' man. I don't like it." Dean reiterated, sticking the pen in his hand between his teeth again as he flipped through the journal. "It's not right – you've been out of it way too long if you can't feel that."

"Oh come on man," Sam grinned, gripping the steering wheel lightly, tapping out the beat to AC/DC's Ride On, "You don't expect me to believe this – a feeling?"

"Yeah, I do – its just like I said – You ask Dad he'll tell you," Dean mumbled, pen in his mouth, raking a hand through his hair.

"It's like – like Spidey sense?" Sam snickered, staring straight down the road, trying desperately not to laugh.

"Shut up Vision-boy." Dean grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning against the open window.

The night streamed past the Impala like a river, liquid thick and weighted down. Leafless trees sped by in a blur, grey and impersonal in the dark.

Dean sighed, and stared out the window in silence. His eyes caught the stars – the cloudless sky hung above them, ancient and unmoving, and he mapped out constellations in his mind – Orion, Cassiopeia's chair, the seven sisters, the dippers.

He could map his life by those stars – the first time he learned them, on the lawn before she died, when his father had been a father, not a commander, when he had been a boy, not a soldier. The next time he learned them with military precision, drilled and tested and drilled again, until he could find his way out of the heart of the darkest forest – so long as it was a clear night.

Maybe that's why he felt a little sad every time he looked at Orion, the Eternal Hunter – why he pitied him, and rued him, and saw himself mirrored in the stars. He was doing it now – hunting when there was no prey, no enemy in the dark.

It was easier to forget about – to not mind – when everything didn't press on him and make him feel claustrophobic.

"Whatever man – maybe I've been doing this too long." He admitted, catching himself as he scanned the trees.

He turned his eyes back to the road.

"Weird." He muttered as they drove past a single discarded high-heeled shoe.

"What?"

"A chick shoe. Just out in the middle of the high-way."

Sam glanced at his brother, arching an eye-brow mischievously, "are your Spidey senses tingling?"

"Shut up."

They drove on, nothing but the radio to break the silence. The road twisted serpent-like around the out-cropping of a hill, the headlights glaring into the dense forest wall that lined the way.

There was movement along the ditch, small, but enough to draw Dean's trained gaze. It was just the last edges of – something – quivering vainly in the wind. "Sam–" Dean tapped his finger against the window, "slow down,"

Craning his neck around, Sam's grinning mouth pulled together, flattening out into a line. A jarring motion from the barely noticeable thing in the ditch drew his eyebrows together as a determined cast settled upon his face. "What is it?"

"Could be a Ghost Hitch-hiker, could be a one-legged dog. I can't see enough to know."

Dean twisted in the passenger seat, leaning over the back and rummaging underneath it for the essentials – a Glock with rock-salt rounds, and a flashlight. "Where are we?"

Sam slowed the Impala to a stop and threw it into park, "About an hour out of St. Petersburg – close to Crestmont."

"College towns both of them – I don't remember either being potential hunting grounds…" Dean mumbled, shoving the Glock into the back of his jeans. "Can't be too sure."

He opened his door, then threw an antagonistic look at Sam, eyes glinting darkly with excitement and a crooked grin, "You comin' or are you gonna keep the seat warm?"

He slammed it shut without a backwards glance as Sam sighed under his breath, climbing out and following Dean as he strode into the ditch.

His gait was confident, but his movements were alert – on guard from the possibility of detection. The sudden quiet, their abandoned car on the roadside – there was a fair chance whatever was out there already knew they were being pursued.

Dean flicked on the flashlight, shining it along the tall grass. Bare white calves paused mid-tread, the dewy grasses tracing along their length in the breeze, as if trapped by the light.

Dragging the beam upward, it illuminated a flimsy black dress that hung askew on the girl that wore it – as if she'd just been released from a compromising embrace. The shoulder strap fell limply across her upper arm, and the back was partially unzipped.

The girl stood crookedly – as if she had only one shoe on. Her hair was short and disheveled, and her pale arms were ribboned with rivulets of red blood that sluiced together dripping between her fingers. She trembled violently.

"Miss?" Sam ventured, leaning to the side to see past Dean as he approached her, closing the few yards distance that stood between them.

She just shook.

"Miss?" Dean moved closer at a smooth, steady pace, as if he was closing in on a wounded animal. Slowly, she craned her head over her shoulder, looking half a wild thing in her stillness, as her hair fell into wide, unblinking eyes – resigned eyes. "Are you –"

She pivoted towards him, the hem of her dress spinning wide as she planted her feet in the grass, the inside of her fore-arms tattooed and bleeding, her left hand clutching a thin knife, the blade black with blood. "I swear I'll kill you!" She shrieked, twisting awkwardly into a knife-fighting stance, her voice raw like she'd been screaming for a long time before this, "I'll kill the fucking lot of you before you take me back there!"

Suddenly she launched herself at Dean, knife straining for his flesh. He reeled backward, using her momentum against her as he planted his foot hard behind him, allowing her to tumble past him, her shoe hampering her movements, making her attack awkward and ineffective.

Angry tears streamed down her face as she caught herself and spun – going for him again, attacking with wild abandon. "You sick fucks! I won't let you get me again!" she cried, slashing out with the knife as Dean grappled with her arms, her other hand shaped like a claw gouging at his face.

"Holy shit," Sam exclaimed under his breath, locking his hands around her waist, trying to pull her from Dean, but she twisted and slid – slippery and hissing wordless curses like an angry cat.

"Sam! Watch out!" Dean shouted as the girl turned in his arms, the knife raised above her head – Sam did the only thing he could think of – he pushed out, his hands connecting squarely with her solar plexus – expelling the air from her lungs and throwing her to the ground – the knife lost somewhere in the tall grass.

"I won't go back. I won't go back. I won't go back," She wheezed, shaking from exertion.

"Dean – no – she could be dangerous," Sam cautioned as Dean knelt beside her, slowly, smoothly.

"I won't hurt you." The timbre of his voice was low and soft, comforting. "I won't hurt you, I promise. Wherever it was that you were, I won't ever let you go back."

She lifted her head up, peering at him under her bangs. Her bottom lip quivered as her scared eyes found his.

"I'm Dean. You can trust me."

He held out his hand, moving slowly so he didn't frighten her more.

Her whole body wracked with sobs as she reached out for his hand, grasping for him like she was drowning. He wreathed an arm around her waist and pulled her to her knees, He smoothed her short hair, whispering incoherent words of comfort to her. It was the most he could do while she clung to him, sobbing.

"oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god," She kept whispering, like a mantra as she fisted her hands into his leather jacket. "its not real…" she sucked in a massive breath, trying to collect herself, "its crazy. Oh my god."

She tittered a little, and then released his jacket, "I don't even know you."

"Well I'm Dean, and he's Sam, and you're safe with us,"

She nodded mechanically, as if she just couldn't process it. "I – I tried to stab you." She mumbled in a daze, "I didn't mean it…well, I did. But I thought you were one of them…" Her body seemed to give a last massive shake, as if the last of her energy had been expended. Her shoulders drooped and her head sagged, her arms coiling about herself to keep her warm.

Up close, she couldn't have been more that 22, if that. Her face was ruined with tear stains and dried blood that had seeped from what he took to be a cut on the scalp, and her lip was split open.

"You're bleeding, Kid. We're gonna take you to a hospital, alright?" Dean told her, forcibly picking her up and setting her on her feet.

"Oow," she sounded as her one heeled foot hit the ground, wobbling for a moment before staying upright.

"We aught to get that shoe off – you've probably sprained your ankle." Dean said, holding her up.

"oh." She breathed, uncomprehending. It took her a moment to understand, but she bent down and undid the buckle as quickly as her quivering hands would allow.

"We good?" Sam questioned concern in his eyes.

"Go start the car – which ways the nearest hospital?"

"I saw a sign for one in St.Petersburg," he answered, climbing up the ditch. "Do you need help with her?"

Dean shook his head no, pressing on with the ruined girl.

"Here," Sam murmured, taking her gently by the hand and setting her in the back seat. "Watch your feet," he added, moving her calves inside the door as she stared out the window, distracted. Lightly, he shut the door, and made his way to the passenger side – Dean already at the wheel.

"I hate cleaning blood out of the seats," He grumbled.

"You were the one with the 'feeling'." Sam retorted buckling his seat belt as Dean spun into gear, turning the car around.

"This is a classic car." He stated, exasperated, as they tore down the road.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: alrighty folks – I wasn't too sure about this chapter, being that I wrote it at 3 AM and that usually doesn't bode well for grammar and such…so I've edited it and fixed a bit with the Dean Characterization.

Hope you like it, and remember: Feedback is rewarded with lots and lots of candy!

Brightly lit and impersonal, the emergency room was nearly empty. Industrial Vinyl chairs were bolted to tidy metal bars, and a tiny TV in the corner replayed the latest football game.

The glass doors slid open in front of the trio, the girl from the highway barely reached Dean's armpit as she hobbled forward, leaning against him. Her eyes stared off unblinking and remote. Dean could feel her shivering violently, but her face was blank – eerily calm – silent and half-dead looking under the glare of the halogen lights.

The low humming of computer terminals and the buzz of the TV filled the stale hospital air. Sam wrinkled his nose, and remembered once again why he didn't like hospitals – they all smell the same – like antiseptic.

"Okay, I need to know your name so the nurse can admit you," Sam said, his hand light like a bird on her waist, barely there, but reassuring.

"What?" It took her a moment to realize what he'd asked. "Oh. It's Sasha."

Her eyes wandered to her hand as it hung loosely by her side, shaking. Sasha's eyebrows knit together, staring at it in an aggravated sort of puzzlement. She shook it briskly and clenched it into a fist. "Umm – It's Sasha Keynes."

"Alright," Sam took her fist, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm just gonna talk to the nurse."

"Okay," she murmured, taking an uncertain step toward the blue-green vinyl seats.

"Whoa," Dean breathed, his large hands catching her about the waist as she faltered, wincing. "Careful okay? You're already broken enough."

He took her hand and placed it on his hip so she could support herself, wrapping his arm roughly under her shoulder. "Just stick with me alright? We'll get you there."

The nurses sat behind a tall off-white counter, flipping intently through a clipboard. Sam leaned forward, "Hi – umm, my friend is really hurt – she's bleeding and I think she's in shock,"

The nurse flicked her eyes upwards, her glasses sliding down the perch of her nose. Hastily she put her index finger against the bridge-piece and pushed them up. "And her name is?"

"Sasha Keynes," he answered, his too-long hair falling into his eyes. He brushed the strands from his vision and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"What happened?" The nurse, whose tag said Loretta, questioned, glancing past him brusquely, then returning to her clipboard, where she scribbled Sasha's name.

"I don't really know – but she's bleeding all down her arms and her lip's split open and I think she has a cut on her head – she uhh... well, she didn't get home and we got worried and went out to look for her – we found her wandering on the highway."

"Did she say anything?"

Sam shrugged, glancing over his shoulder to where she sat, knees drawn up to her chest, hugging them to her – contained, except for the hand Dean held, resting between the edges of their seats. It dwarfed hers, made it look small, like a child's. "No – nothing – I think she's in shock."

"Alright – well we're gonna Amtrak her, and a Doctor will be with her shortly," Loretta replied, scribbling some more on the admittance form, "just through those doors there," she pointed with the pen.

"Thank – you," Sam told her, turning around.

Sasha sat numbly on the edge of the gurney, her forearms bandaged with gauze, The Doctor pressing an ice-pack to her left cheek-bone. "Just hold it like that Sasha; can you do that for me?"

She nodded, taking the ice-pack. The Doctor was in his sixties, the hair at his temples going grey. Tall and broad, Dr. Tersher was an athletic man gone to seed, his bulk collecting around his belt.

The boys watched him as he busied himself cleaning her cuts, and his eyes bore a look of concern. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm just going to pick up her x-rays."

They nodded her assent, watching him saunter down the corridor. The glaring light cast odd shadows on the linoleum. Sam tapped Dean lightly on the shoulder, motioning for them to step back to the corner near a sterile looking medical cart. "You think this is our thing?" he whispered, sneaking a glance at Sasha's back.

"Did you see her arms? Those freaky looking tattoos?" Dean questioned, peeking over his shoulder. "I think I've seen some of those symbols before – and I don't think she gave those tats to herself."

Sam nodded. "Someone did that to her."

"Well she sure as hell didn't do it to herself."

Sam nodded again, moving to Sasha. "Can you tell us what happened?"

She readjusted the pack, "I don't even know really…I was on the computer, and then I heard someone open the door, and I thought it was Nina – my roommate. But then this guy – he just barged in and grabbed me."

She shifted slightly as Sam came around the and sat down beside her, Dean hovering nearby.

"I must have hit my head or something. The next thing I know I was in this chair and my hands were tied, and this guy made me take these pills and it all gets kinda fuzzy from there – I remember being dragged into this big white room with this big table covered in black, and there were all these guys in hoods – it was so dark," Sasha's voice grew strained and quiet, breaking as she continued, "and uh, there were candles everywhere and they were singing something – chanting. And I just remember feeling really heavy and hot and my arms stung. And then there was this guy behind the table and he grabbed me and um – he uh, he threw – threw me onto it…"

She trailed off, biting her lip so hard the skin around it turned white. A tiny sob escaped. "And umm – he climbed – well, he climbed on top and started pushing my dress up."

Sam reached over and to her free hand, patting it gently, glancing at Dean – the muscle in his jaw twitched, like he was clenching his teeth hard. A violent shudder tore through her, and tears rolled down her face as she hiccoughed, wiping at them with her hand, "I tried to push him off, and I was screaming, but someone grabbed my hands and I – I wasn't strong enough."

She put her head down, pressing her palms to her eyes hard, the ice pack forgotten beside her. Sam put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"He wasn't – he hadn't – umm… just pushed my dress up, they were chanting – and I must have started hallucinating, because it was like this big dark cloud kinda twisted all around him, and some other guy brought out this bowl and knife, and I got really scared, and I started to really freak out – I must have grabbed it."

She heaved in a breath, sobbing. "And I, umm… I must have used it. I think I cut people. I don't know – I can't even think how I got out or where I was until you guys came." She finished, wiping her nose with a broad swipe of her hand.

"I'm so sorry," Sam breathed, squeezing her shoulder.

"Aww, Kid," Dean murmured, bending slightly as he picked up the ice-pack. "here," he put the cold compress to her cheek bone, harder than he expected, because she winced, her eyes squeezing shut painfully. "oops." He muttered, stepping back as soon as she took it from him.

"Now you keep that on there, okay? Or else your face is gonna swell up like a chipmunk."

Sam sighed in exasperation, shaking his head at Dean. Taking the ice pack from Sasha's trembling hands, he held it lightly against her bruise.

"What?" Dean questioned, annoyed, "and your Nurse Rosetta?"

Sasha managed a brief half-smile. Flicking her eyes up to glance at Dean, she mumbled, "Alice Cooper,"

Dean chuckled lightly. "I like this kid."

Sam grinned. There was a movement in his peripheral vision. It was the doctor.

"he's back – lets see what he says."

Dr. Tersher motioned the boys over to the x-ray panel. "It looks like a mild sprain."

Clearing his throat, he hazarded a glance toward the girl, "If I may ask – what happened here tonight?"

Sam coughed. The air hung heavily between the boys and the Doctor. Dean sighed. "Her ex-boyfriend. He's crazy. We should have taken better care of her." He let his eyes fall, staring at his shoes. "She wasn't home when she said she'd be. I mean – I knew he was bad news, but I never thought–"

Sam caught on, shaking his head. "The guy was always dangerous."

The doctor nodded, removing the x-rays. "And what's your relation to her?"

"Brothers," Dean said,

"Friends," Sam replied at the same time. They looked quickly at each other, "Friends – but we're like her brothers."

"Practically grew up with her," Dean added, throwing in a smile for good measure.

Dr. Tersher's gaze shifted from the two of them. "She should be fully coherent by the morning, after a good night's sleep. I suggest someone keep an eye on her tonight, and I'd minimum exertion."

"Yes sir," Dean returned, nodding deferentially.

He nodded back in awknowledgment, and turned on his heel without so much as a goodbye.

"A dark shape?" Sam whispered lowly. "Possession maybe?"

"Could be a lot of things Sammy."

"What are we gonna do about her?" He asked as they reached her.

Dean looked over his shoulder for the Doctor. He was no where in sight. "Sasha? Is there some place safe we can take you? A friend's?"

She shook her head. "I don't know anyone outside of Residence. And someone gave that guy the door code – and I just – I uh, I just don't feel safe there. What if they're waiting for me?"

Dean looked at Sam, looked at him like he couldn't do anything else. Sam sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I guess your coming with us."


End file.
